Wolf Red and Wolf White
by Wynni
Summary: Everyone knows what happens when the Big Bad Wolf met Red Riding Hood, but what if her cape were green and she had met two wolves? Hang on to your hats, folks, because this Fairytale went places even we didn't expect. Fili x OC / Thorin x OC / Kili x OC
1. Introduction

INTRODUCTION

_Written by __kkolmakov_

**A/N: When ****Wynni** **offered me to collaborate on the continuation of my spin on the Red Riding Hood fairy tale (can be found on my page under "Fairytales From Under the Mountain" chapter 5) I was endlessly happy! **

**In this story you can find her OC and Philippe's (AU Fili from the line of Durin) story. On my page under the title of "****Claws and Cloaks**" **you can find Wren (my usual OC) and Darius (AU Thorin), as well as Nerys and Killiare (OC Reese and Kili written by ****RagdollPrincess****.) Thank you, my lovelies, and enjoy! **

In the world where monsters freely roam lands but follow the universal code, men turn into wolves with the full moon, but sometimes marry the very hunters who are supposed to be their doom, on a bloom covered field where grass was soft and fragrant, warmed up under the July sun, Wren of Leary, the Chief Hunter of the biggest Hunters' clan, was lying on her back, her slanted amber eyes lazily following fluffy lambs of clouds running across the blue sky. With her finely attuned hearing she caught slight rustling on her right, her red lips curled up, but she didn't move. The terrifying beast crawling to her through the spingly grasses tensed every muscle in its body and with a loud screech jumped at her.

Wren swiftly rolled on her side, her small strong hands grabbed the beast across its middle, and a squeal burst out of her attacker.

"No fair, Auntie!" Little Caronwen yelled, squirming in her aunt's hands, merciless tickling attack eventually leaving her breathless from laughter.

"You are the one who attacked me, little one," Wren laughed. She carefully put the girl on her back, on the cloak spread on the grass and looked at her lovingly. Caronwen had her mother's curls, at the moment scattered around her head like a nimbus, soft and of the colour of linden honey, destined to darken a few shades with age. Wren remembered Carys when she was a child herself, the same elegant nose, large brown eyes, plump lips. Wren being the oldest often caught herself painfully jealous of Carys, sunny, loyal, smart Carys. Wren tapped her niece's nose with a tip of her finger and smiled to the girl. Caronwen had her father's bright blue eyes, and his unbendable will.

"Will I be as fast when I am all grown-up, Auntie?" Caronwen had a melodic voice, both her parents being exceptionally talented singers.

"I am not fast because I am a grown-up, little one, I'm fast because I have trained."

"I too want to be a hunter like you!" She sat up and gave her aunt a challenging stare. Wren chuckled. Caronwen looked exactly like her father at that moment, brows frowned, lips pursed stubbornly. She was a true daughter of Philippe, the alpha of the Northern Wolf Clan. Wren always thought that children deserved the same respect and honesty as any adult, and she softly spoke to the girl.

"Caronwen, you have your mother's gift. You would become an exceptional healer, perhaps even the Chief Healer like your mother. The decision is yours, but everyone will expect you to follow your mother's steps. Since you are no wolfkin, like your father."

"But you didn't become a healer! Your mother was a healer, but you are a hunter!"

"Because the gift was passed to your mother, and honestly she manages it better than I ever could. It's easier for me to draw a sword than deal with people's ailments. And emotions," Wren wrinkled her delicate nose.

"But Uncle Darius says you are a very good healer too." Wren smirked at the thought of her husband.

"Uncle Darius is flattering me."

"Because he is married to you?"

"Because if he doesn't, he is in trouble," Wren gave her niece a wink, and the girl stared at her.

"Are you not afraid of him, Auntie?" Caronwen suddenly switched to whispering, her tone reverent. Wren laughed and fell on her back. "He is so scary..." Wren kept on roaring with laughter, Caronwen was studying her with widened eyes.

"No, I am not afraid of him. Are you afraid of your father?"

"Of course not!" Her little face lit up with a radiant smile.

"He is an apha now, Uncle Darius isn't anymore."

"And still..." The girl fidgeted with the hem of her cloak. "Uncle Darius growls." It took Wren several more minutes to subdue her frolics.

"Indeed he does, but your father is the scariest of the wolfkin these days, he is the strongest, and everyone submits to him."

"Yes, but it's just Da!.." Caronwen looked at her aunt with her giant brilliant eyes. "And mum shushes him. One can't be scary if you see him shushed at dinner." Wren rolled on her stomach, and Caronwen heard her snorting into her sleeve. Finally having calmed down a bit, and it took a while, Wren lifted her face and gave her niece a wide grin.

"Your mum is a force to reckon with. Do you know how they met? It's quite a story..." Caronwen nodded.

"Daere told me," she cringed mentioning her older sister, and Wren recognised the sibling rivalry she herself had experienced more often than not. Both Carys, Caronwen's mother, and Nerys, Carys's sister grew up with Wren, being her cousins, and the three of them were inseparable when children. Later Nerys and Wren started their training as hunters, while Carys had become a healer's apprentice. "It was after the Big Hunt, when almost all wolfkin were killed by hunters." She frowned and looked at Wren from the corner of her eye. Wren sighed.

"It was not that simple, it never is, Caronwen. But yes, the Big Hunt was the last big war between wolfkin and hunters. As you know hunters have a code, we only hunt those who can be considered monsters, those who have taken an innocent life, otherwise, any race is allowed to live in peace. Hunters had reasons to hunt wolfkin then, and they were outlawed, until one day..."

"You met Uncle Darius..." Caronwen pronounced in a sing-song voice. Wren laughed loudly.

"Yes, little one, until one day I met Uncle Darius..."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Cover Picture by Axcido, found here: http [colon] <strong> **/d62o5sw  
><strong>


	2. In the Deep Dark woods

_Written by __Wynni_

CARYS/PHILIPPE

Carys wondered why it was that the nuttiest plans always seem sanest when first thought. She hurried through the darkening woods, praying to catch up to Wren before it got too dark. She had some woodcraft, but not enough she wanted to try her luck in the dark by herself. She knew she was probably praying in vain. Wren was quite likely already tucked up at Gram's sipping that infamous hot chocolate and eating those heavenly scones. People had been known to travel over the mountains for Gramma's scones, not just her medicines; though learning those was the reason Carys was trying to push on when she should have just waited for her sister. No, Carys didn't want to wait on her sister. She had to go now, and surely Wren was just a little ahead of her. Hah! Wren had more woodcraft in her wee finger than Carys had in her entire body. What had she been thinking?

When she heard the first wolf howl, Carys lost all semblance of composure. Her wild shriek probably woke every roosting bird in a half mile round. She was only a little better composed when the answering howl sounded. Her knees turned to jelly when she realized how close the second was, and it had to have heard her. Scratch that, it did hear her, and it was heading this way!

Wren had promised her there weren't wolves or wolfkin in these woods. That there hadn't been for twelve years or so, but there the howls and shaking undergrowth called her a barefaced liar. How she wished she'd stayed home and waited, now. What were her belt knives against wolves or wolf kin?

She heard them first. They didn't sound anxious or hungry. They were quietly chuffing and yipping to each other in an almost conversational tone. She felt her heart plummet. That definitely sounded more like wolfkin behavior than wolf. The two wolves finally broke cover, and she could see them in the bright moonlight. One was a blonde wolf with brilliant blue eyes. The other looked dark as soot and had brown eyes. Both of them studied her with more than animal intelligence even to cocking their heads as if asking "What are you doing out here by yourself?" Carys hugged her green cape closer to her for comfort. Now what?

Yep, there were only two of them, which meant wolf kin. It didn't necessarily spell her sudden doom. The fact they were looking at her curiously meant she stood a fair chance of surviving this encounter. "You are wolfkin, aren't you?"

The blonde one bowed to her as if nodding, whilst the dark one made that chuffing sound. It sounded like he was laughing at her. The cheek! She tried again.

"I don't want trouble. I'm just a healer in training, trying to get to the Blind Herbwoman who lives the other side of these woods. Will you let me pass?" Now even the dark one considered her, then purposefully turned to the blonde one as if looking for guidance. The blonde one stood up from where he'd been sitting on his haunches, walked over to one side of Carys, and took the corner of her cape in his mouth. The dark one mirrored his example on her other side. Both wolves came up to her waist at their shoulders. Carys wasn't all that tall, but was that normal for wolves? If they were large for wolves, how tall were they as humans?

She felt the hem of her cape catch behind her knees. She could either fall over, or go where the wolf kin wanted. They traveled that way only for a little while. She noticed that, even though they were watching her, they also paid close attention to their surroundings.

The ears and eyes of both were constantly surveying the shadows for possible trouble. It was almost like the two were guarding her from danger. She began to wonder if she'd managed to stumble upon her very own guardian wolfkin. The thought made her giggle, earning her a sidelong look from the dark one, making her giggle even harder. Considering the cheek that one showed earlier, she dared a joke. "Lead on, oh brave guardian wolf knight; just don't trip me, hey?" She heard chuffing from her other side. Apparently, Blonde thought it was funny.

It wasn't long after that they both stopped suddenly. Ears on both heads started swiveling, and an odd whining came from the blonde, while the dark one started that wolfish version of laughter.

"Care to share the joke? What's happened? Why stop here?" Then she heard her cousin yelling. Carys didn't think, she just started running, because if something could make Wren yell, and then before she could finish that thought, she was head over heels tumbling in the leaf litter. She came up to a pair of laughing wolf eyes.

"What was that for?" Again, both heads cocked, and the Blonde whined. This time, Carys really listened, and she felt her own cheeks heat up. That was most definitely not the cry of a woman in trouble.

"Oh? OH! Well, since where ever we were headed is ….busy, now what?" Both of them were over by a large spreading oak. The base of it looked curved about right to provide some support for resting. As soon as she was settled against the tree, both wolves nosed their heads under her arms and onto her lap. She chuckled at that, but it did keep her warm against the chill better than her cape. Both of them threw off amazing body heat. She was almost too warm to sleep.

She laughed again, causing both wolves to look at her. "I have to be the oddest sight ever. Here I am, a half trained healer, and I have two wolfkin sleeping on my lap. No one will ever believe it." She fell asleep still chuckling.

Philippe slowly opened his eyes. Nope, it wasn't a wolf dream. They really had found a young healer out in the woods by herself. She was just as interesting to human eyes as she was to his wolf eyes. Long curling hair peeping out of her hood the color of wild honey, long dark lashes, a high bridged nose, and a generous mouth slightly smiling while she dreamed. Philippe wondered if the curls were as soft as they seemed. They were. Unfortunately, his inspection of her curls seemed to have been enough to waken her. The mouth twitched and the stubborn chin firmed.

Philippe was not one to let things happen; he preferred to be proactive. "Good morning, I hope you slept well?" Brook brown eyes flew open. Her expressions were quite comical as sleep cleared and memory returned.

"The blonde wolf?"

"Philippe, fair healer, at your service." Oh saints preserve her, but he was a looker. Bright blonde hair, lively blue eyes, a laughing mouth that promised all kinds of delightful kisses, and a strong chin and nose completed a package guaranteed to cause her troubled dreams. Even the beard and braided mustache added to his charm. Carys felt her heart flip just looking at him. Her voice only shook a little when she asked her next question.

"And this is the dark one, still asleep on my lap?"

"I'm Killiare, also at your service" Yep, he was a cheeky fellow, and as open and friendly as he seemed- the classic good looks didn't hurt none, she was sure the boy could probably get away with murder. Carys knew trouble when she was looking at it. Right now, she had double naked trouble literally in her lap.

"Alright boys, now what?"

"Now, they tell me what they're doing with my cousin pinned to a tree between them?" Oh Wren, your timing always was twenty kinds of impeccable.

"Well, we were bringing this poor lost lamb to camp, but um, Uncle seemed preoccupied at the time." Leave it to Killiare to stop a wrathful Wren in her tracks, and goodness, was even the big fellow just behind her blushing? He must be Philippe and Killiare's uncle. He was as dark as Killiare, but shared the same strong features and bright blue eyes with Philippe. No bloody wonder they were "preoccupied" last night.

"Here boys, make yourselves presentable." Linen trousers were thrown to the two, and they quickly shimmied into them. Tunics followed, a blue one for Philippe and a red one for Killiare. Carys felt her lips twitch in amusement, Wolf White and Wolf Red indeed.

"Now that the distractions are covered." Wren barely kept her lips from twitching when both boys laughed outright. "Perhaps you'd tell me what in hell made you come out here alone, instead of waiting on Nerys?"

"I had to…" Carys huffed loudly at the look Wren gave her. "Wren! It was like being at my own funeral there! The ones not giving me sympathetic looks were treating me as if I were about to consign myself to the well! Better to start the rest of my training early than endure a day more of that!"

"And you thought walking alone through the forests was a good alternative to a slight emotional discomfort in the safe village?" Wren's sarcastic tone was known to freeze hot coffee in pots. It rather warmed her heart to see Philippe start to step between them. What a protective fellow, but no. Wren was her cousin, and she'd been dealing with her bossy, but often right, britches her whole life.

"Wren, I love you dearly and will even admit chasing after you wasn't as smart as it first seemed, but I'll be damned if I'll let you assume what sitting around with a whole village pitying you or worse, feeling guilty over you, felt like." Carys gritted her teeth and her usually sweet soprano fairly growled. Wren had always been the bigger sibling sort, and still felt it necessary to boss her about, never mind Carys had bandaged more bruises and scrapes from both her and Nerys' brilliant plans than either of them would ever admit. Carys sometimes wondered if Wren had picked up healing just to keep from having to admit when another of her escapades failed.

Wren rubbed her face in aggravation, ignoring her growl. "Carys, I cannot walk you to Grandma right now. It just so turned out I have matters to attend at the moment," her face was cold and serious, but something flashed in her slanted green eyes.

The older wolfkin slightly shifted, and she threw him a look from the corner of her eyes. It felt as if a strange thread linked the two of them, a strange buzzing energy running between them. She looked at him more openly, and he nodded and pointed at the blonde boy with his eyes. "Philippe will walk you to the swamps. Killiare will go with us."

Somehow it never entered anyone's mind to argue with her. She was tiny and looked very young, but could bend the biggest, scariests blokes to her will with a slightly lifted brow. "Please, tell me you at least remember the path to Grandma's."

"Yes, Wren, I remember the path. Where do you think these two fine fellows found me?" Aggrieved patience dripped from every word, Carys was still comfortably settled against the tree. She lifted a hand to Philippe, who helped her up with all the care of a fine gentleman, causing both Killiare and the older one to raise an eyebrow at him.

Wren slightly turned her head to the woods and smiled coyly. "Eavesdropping is a sin, sister."

"So is lechery," answered a calm melodic tone as Nerys stepped out of the shadows. Her tall, slender frame a sharp contrast to Carys' shorter, rounder one. Carys thought that if Killiare were still a wolf, his ears would perk up and his thick black tail would wag. The lopsided grin he sported, though, was definitely pure wolf. Now it was Killiare's turn to be on the receiving end of speculative looks from Philippe and their uncle, not that Killiare's riveted eyes even noticed.

However, Carys, who wound up mending emotions almost as often as flesh and bone, did. She wondered what exactly was happening here. How likely was it that Wren would find a wolfkin she was _that _comfortable with the very night Carys would make a bid to escape the very village she'd practically sacrificed her life to protect? What odds she'd find one of the nephews _that_ distracting, or the other be _that _taken with her sister? She felt Fate tugging on their strings, and she didn't like it one bit. One too many times she'd been on the wrong end of that string. It made her want to stubbornly dig in her heels and tell Fate where it could go and what it could take with it.

"Nerys, I must speak with you." Wren pulled Nerys aside. Now Carys' curiosity was piqued. What on earth could have changed just since yesterday? What did that old wolfkin talk to her about before, after, whenever. Carys could feel her cheeks heating. Seriously, Fate, take a flying leap. Wren was not the sort to simply fall in with anyone, much less a race she blamed for taking her father too early. She'd heard for herself just how thoroughly Wren had fallen in with the older wolfkin.

She watched the various expressions play themselves out on Nerys' face: skepticism, growing horror, and finally grim acceptance. Reading Nerys was a perk only family got. Her expressions were subtle; most folk considered her calm, collected, and hard to read. Whatever was happening had to be deathly serious for even as much as Carys' got off her. Nerys' gave a curt nod to Wren, then strode over to where Carys still stood with both Philippe and Killiare, who still seemed mesmerized by Nerys. "Wren is going to need help. Specifically, mine and Killiare's. I've been assured." Her eyes cut to and narrowed in on their uncle. "That Philippe is more than capable of getting you safely to Grandma's." Her tone left no doubt there'd be hell to pay if he didn't.

"They kept me safe and out of trouble last night; I trust them. I'll be fine. Can you promise me the same?" Carys idly brushed the leaf litter off her leggings and cape, carefully hiding her own nerves. Her tone was much calmer than she really felt. Left alone, with Philippe? She just knew Fate was rolling in laughter, because it wasn't him she was worried about misbehaving at this point, but herself. And why, heavens above, was she even thinking about that when her sister and cousin might be traipsing off to unknown dangers that horrify even her devil may care kin?

"We shall have to see, won't we?" Her sister was never one to try to feed her a lie of any stripe, even if a comforting white lie would have been preferable. Nerys had already turned to start checking her pack and other equipment. Tabulating what she had, and what she might need for this further journey she hadn't been planning.

Carys' nerves demanded she do something, so she did the next best thing she could do. She thumped Killiare in the shoulder to get his attention. He shifted his eyes to her momentarily, then went back to watching Nerys' shapely bent over backside as she rummaged her packs. "Promise me you'll watch out for her?"

"With my life, if need be." Carys did a double take. What on earth? It didn't stun just her. Philippe was now gazing at his brother with real concern. Carys felt Killiare's forehead, just to make sure he wasn't about to start on a journey with an illness. She wondered if Nerys had heard him. Yep. Nerys was now thoughtfully gazing at a distant tree branch just starting to bud. Her cheeks were faintly flushed.

Carys did not know what to think. It was one thing for Fate to tinker and toy with her. Healers expect some degree of it, given the gifts they're given, but to toy with her family or these nice wolfkin she'd met? Intolerable. What are you up to, Fate, and heavens help you if you harm any of them. Though how, exactly she could make Fate pay, she didn't know, but she was sure she could come up with something. She didn't grow up with daredevils for nothing.

Despite her best efforts, time slipped away from her. Eventually, everyone was ready to break camp and go their way: her and Philippe to her Gram's, and the rest on whatever the secretive quest was. It troubled Carys that this might be the last, and as she often did, she started singing to herself to quiet her mind. Nerys, hearing the old familiar round, joined her four bars in. She did NOT expect the wolfkin. They filled in the lower registers: Killiare a fine tenor, Philippe and Darius baritones. Yet it seemed fitting. The song joining them just as Fate seemed to be, their voices mingling to create a lovely thing, even as they were preparing to part company.

"Roads, lead me home, Roads, lead me home." As the final bars finished all voices together, Carys looked up to see Nerys' eyes just as suspiciously shiny as hers. Carys could stand it no longer. "Take as much care as you can, I love you." Nerys only nodded, not trusting her voice. Carys moved on to Wren, pulling her into a hug. "I love you. Stay safe, please?"

Wren's own "I love you, too. Safe travels." was softly spoken, meant only for her ears. Carys picked up her pack and took Philippe's offered arm as they started their journey together. She didn't dare look back.


	3. Over the River

**_A/N: No, no river yet, but it's coming...down the line._**

_Written by __Wynni_

CARYS/PHILIPPE

The camp was now a half day behind them, and Carys was still quiet as a mouse. Philippe kept careful watch, idly fingering one of the long knives that rode comfortably at his side. She'd often catch him humming, quirking a smile despite herself. Some of them were easy to recognize, others puzzled her, having never heard anything like them. Curiosity finally got the better of her.

"That tune, what is it?" Philippe cocked his head at her, as if trying to remember what it was he'd been humming. Carys hummed it back at him, watching his eyes light up.

"Just an old cradle song. One our mum would sing to help us sleep. It's a longtime favorite." He smiled down at her. From the crinkles at the corner of his eyes to the winking dimples just clear of his beard, she liked the way his whole face lit up. It was one reason she felt so comfortable in his presence, despite his height. He wasn't as tall as his uncle. Carys thought few men or wolfkin could be, but he was plenty tall to her. Carys was five foot if she were an inch, and she could just barely stare him straight in the chest.

"It's pretty. Would you share the words?"

"Oh now, that, well, for a grown man to sing those, 'tis a bit embarrassing now."

"I'll share one of mine, if you share yours."

"I somehow don't think it'd be as embarrassing for a pretty lass to sing a cradle song as a grown man." The lop sided mischievous grin was playing havoc with Carys' equilibrium. In fact, she was so busy watching his grin, she stumbled over a thick branch. Quick arms caught her up before she could utterly disgrace herself.

"You should really watch where you point that thing, It's dangerous."

"Whatever for, when it puts you right where I want you?" Philippe's low rumbly words had Carys' cheeks approaching combustion levels, and she had to put some space between herself and the impossible wolfkin….mercy did he smell good: forest loam, fresh fern, and a personal musk that was causing serious consternation in nether regions best left unmentioned. Her heart was fair beating out of her chest by this point. She pushed away so fast she wound up back against a tree, trying to catch her breath.

"That's enough of that, thank you! " Carys was trying for a no nonsense tone, but was fairly certain the treble gave it away. Philippe was studying her, almost as if he couldn't quite believe something, and shook his head in a very wolfish manner, as if trying to clear it.

Carys was back at his side almost instantly, checking his temperature and pulse. He felt even warmer than usual, and his heartbeat raced madly against her palm. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He gave her a wistful grin. "Lack of sleep. This full moon's our First Change. " Carys winced in sympathy. Growing up in a family of Hunters meant she knew a lot about wolfkin. "Know thy enemy" was a motto her family lived and died by.

"Well, we could rest during the day, and you can escort me as you and your brother did last night? Would that help matters?"

"And who would stand watch during the day? Once I nod off, not much would wake me."

"I'm a healer, I'd find a way." Carys' studied the stubborn tilt of her wolfkin's head, and huffed at him. "There's a shallow cave not half a league that way our family's often used for camping. Oft used to the point we leave an equipment cache there for just in case. Would that suffice? We can even build up a fire at the entrance to ward off most animals." It was then Carys' turn to catch Philippe. He was obviously worse off than he'd be letting on, the stinker. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

Carys studied the zonked out Philippe. He really was a deep sleeper, or just that drained from the changes. She mentally calculated how many more he'd be through. Tonight and one other. It was lucky for them then, she'd started her journey as early as she had. Giving Philippe time would not put her late on her apprenticeship to Gram. Carys shook her head. She was accomplishing nothing watching Philippe sleep except giving herself a case of nerves. She decided to inspect the cache. Digging it out, she found her old bow and quiver set. She smiled at it.

It had been a few years since she'd needed it. She put it up when she started her herbal studies. Hunting plants required a very different technique than hunting rabbits or squirrels. She idly wondered if she still had her aim. She strung the bow, and checked the arrows. The fletchings were still good, the shafts unwarped. The bow and string seemed in excellent condition, too. She wondered who'd packed it back so carefully for her. It was almost as if someone knew she'd be needing it. She rolled her eyes, because it almost seemed she could hear Fate snickering over her shoulder.

She took the bow and quiver to the cave's mouth. She thought the old stump about a hundred paces away would do, and took careful aim. The first arrow landed in the dirt just before it. The second whizzed off into the underbrush just over it. The third and forth arrows found center. She whooped loudly in delight, and quickly turned to see if she disturbed Philippe. No, he was still asleep. She quietly celebrated with a little victory dance, and started making packs up again for the evening's travel, including her recovered bow and arrows and a few other things from the cache.

Everything was finally set to her standards: fire to ward off animals, a tripwire that would warn if anything passed the fire, and packs ready for evening travel. Carys felt a yawn crack her jaws. Only thing left was for her to get some sleep. It wouldn't do for her to be too tired to travel in the evening, that would defeat the whole purpose. She took a bedroll from the cache, shook it out, laid down next to Philippe's comatose form, and slept.

Philippe slowly came back to himself. He didn't recall ever sleeping that soundly before. Uncle hadn't been kidding when he'd warned them about the exhaustion. He scanned his surroundings. This must have been the cave Carys had mentioned. She wasn't sleeping far from him. In fact, she was rather nicely cuddled up next to him. Her constant contact with something was part of what had awakened him. He shifted a little to ease the distress. Her curls were everywhere, like soft clinging, curling vines. Again, he couldn't resist playing with them. This time, she simply murmured, smiled, and snuggled closer. Feelings threatened to swamp him, and he had to close his eyes a moment to bring them back in line.

He refused to give in to anything, including his own nature. He would decide his fate, naught else. Except, he realized that there was one thing he couldn't control: he'd found his Half. It was humorous watching his Uncle find his mate, worrisome when it seemed Recognition had struck his brother, but himself? It scared him. It scared him that some other person could hold that much power over him, and he was helpless against it. She could break him to pieces or make him ecstatic.

So much power in those deft healer's hands. He took one up, smiling at it. They were green stained, and the nails cut short for practicality. Her hands were almost square: short fingered, and with a wide palm comparatively. He knew a healer's work wasn't easy, yet they were still soft and smooth. He wondered at that. He caressed the center of her palm with his thumb.

That's how Carys woke: looking up into thoughtful blue eyes, a serious look on the usually impish face, and her palm being caressed to a fair thee well. "Um? What's wrong?"

"Do you know, you've left me a mystery. Why were the villagers treating you so strangely? Going to study herbalism shouldn't warrant such a reaction." Sidestepping things he didn't want to talk about had become an artform. It really was the only way to deal with a younger sibling sometimes.

"I wondered when I'd have to have this discussion." All her good feelings from her fast fading dream were long gone. She did seem to remember it involved laughing blue eyes and soft sweet kisses. "It's not my apprenticeship to Gram, but the reason for it: I was the Crooked Dwarf's price for banishing the village plague that struck oh, several years ago now. I was just a wee girl then, and nobody could think how else to stop it. It even had Gram stumped. So, for the price of only seven years of my life, he'd save the entire village from death. What a steal, right?" She shuddered and huddled into herself, hugging her knees close.

One wolfish growl later and she was pulled tightly against a massive, overly warm chest. "I've not long before the change, but we _will_ finish this talk later. For now, just remember, you won't be facing that Crooked Dwarf of yours alone. Not if I can help it. Please?" He had shifted her so he could turn her face to meet his earnest blue eyes. He was already breaking out in a sweat, his time fast approaching.

"Philippe, is everything alright? You don't look well." A touch softer than butterfly kisses flitted across his brow and cupped his cheek, keeping eye contact between them now that the conversation had turned. She seemingly wasn't the only one with subjects she wanted to avoid.

"I don't like the change. It isn't easy on me." He rubbed against her hand. Her cool skin felt heavenly right now.

"What can I do? I want to help."

"A kiss for luck?" Between Recognition clawing at him and the coming change, he couldn't stop himself from asking at least that much.

"That would help with the change, would it?" He winced at her dry, teasing tone. He thought to play it off, working up a lopsided grin for her despite his thumping heart and twitching muscles.

"Well, it'd make me feel better." He almost believed his light cajolery himself.

Philippe had been sending mixed signals since she met him. There was a chance that all the oddities were simply First Change symptoms, she admitted to herself. A lot of the outward symptoms of First Change and Recognition were nigh indistinguishable. There was a chance it might be Recognition, given that both his uncle and his brother were smitten.

It seemed a small, unlikely chance to Carys' mind; she'd never been given a second glance before. She wasn't dashing, petite, and fiery like Wren. She wasn't collected, calm, and ladylike like Nerys. She was round little Carys, everyone's friend and confidant. She was just good ol' Carys, as common and comfortable as granny's quilt.

"Mm hmm, it would, would it?" She could hear Fate laughing over her shoulder again, but by now, she didn't care. She'd been breathing the same air from his lungs for the past half minute, already half drunk from the smell and feel of him. She closed her eyes and dove in.

Philippe was drowning in heaven and didn't care. The minute she opened her mouth for him his tongue was dancing with hers. She tasted glorious: woodsmoke, honeyed journeycake, and he'd swear on his soul she tasted of sunshine too. He could have happily spent the rest of his life right there, but his change was on him, and he broke free with a frustrated growl.

"Carys," Her name almost sounded like a prayer on his lips. "The change, now." Philippe tottered outside. She heard a bellow of sheer agony that slowly mutated into a howl.


	4. And through the woods

She took a moment to get her galloping heart and shaking hands under control. She had most certainly not been expecting a kiss like that. She wonderingly ran her hands over the bottom half of her face. The skin there was still sensitive from his beard and mustache. She was his Half. He'd never leave her and never love another. What a mountain of responsibility, and she was sworn to serve that blasted Crooked Dwarf seven years. How was that supposed to work? It was making her head swim. One step at a time, she reminded herself.

She shook her head and went outside. He had barely made it out of sight before the Change took him. She found his crumpled clothes right next to the cave opening. His shirt was slightly torn. On closer inspection, she could see it was just a seam rip. She could probably have that fixed before he'd finished hunting his supper.

Her blonde wolf came back from his hunt with a surprise for her: a freshly caught rabbit he dropped at her feet. It caught her off guard and made her feel a little guilty about what she had planned, or the glee she had been anticipating at the whining and yowling. "Philippe, you are a bundle of surprises, you know that?" He tilted his head at her in that way she was coming to take as 'isn't it obvious?"

"You've eaten?" He was chuffing at her again. She'd take that as a yes. Luckily, rabbit cooked fast, and the warding fire was still going. Soon enough, the rabbit was gone and it was time for them to be gone as well.

"Alright, you. C'mere. There's no way I can carry supplies for two, so guess what?" Here, he backed up at the evil grin she gave him. Laugh at me, will you? she thought. 'You've got your own harness! Like it?" Yep, there was the whine. "Oh hush, I'm carrying the heavy stuff. You can help a little, now hold still." It took some doing; he was a big wolf, and she had barely allowed enough leeway for adjustment in some places. "There, now, shake." He huffed, and shook vigorously. The straps and buckles held.

"Well, it's not falling off, but is it rubbing anywhere?" Carys had kept the rabbitskin. It would do for padding if it were rubbing him raw. As best she could tell running her fingers between wolf and harness, it didn't seem to be. She tried not to notice just how thick and luscious his fur was. She could run her fingers through that glory forever and never get tired of it. "Alright then, we're off. By the way, you tore your shirt. I mended it while you were hunting. Apologies in advance if it's not to your liking." The aggrieved whuf sounded suspiciously human. She chuckled under her breath at it. It was time to get on the road.

Carys was amazed at the time they were making. She had underestimated how much light the full moon afforded them. It was still early enough in the year half the usual hazards were not out of hibernation yet, walking at night meant daylight hazards had gone to bed, and most night denizens weren't willing to tackle a wolfkin. She still kept her bow and quiver handy, if for no other reason than the familiar comfort it gave her.

Carys finally had to admit her energy was flagging. Philippe had been flicking his ears and cutting looks at her for a while now. Her feet hurt, and things were starting to blur a bit. She hadn't said anything, simply because the further they got, the less Philippe would worry about resting during the day.

First she found the mudslick. Her feet flew out from under her, and next she knew, she was sliding right up to her chin in the deepest boggy mudsink she'd ever had the displeasure to encounter. She heaved a heavy sigh, and did her best not to panic. Mudsinks were notorious for drowning unwary travelers, especially ones that couldn't keep their heads and flailed about like ninnies. Her stern self lecture was only partially successful. She had a lid on her panic, but barely. If her slow searching hands didn't find some kind of purchase soon, it might break free.

She managed to stifle most of the shriek as she felt something tug on the pack. A muffled whuf informed her exactly who had her as she was slowly tugged from the slurping sucking embrace of the mudsink. She helped once arms and feet found purchase, but it was slow going. She was already exhausted, and the mud clinging to her only made it worse. There wasn't even any grass yet to speak of to scrape some of it off. Philippe started to wash her but she stopped him. 'No, no, you're not licking this stuff. Last thing we need is for you to catch bogcramps. No, we'll find a stream and wash in the morning." He whined, but curled up around her, offering his dry fur to keep her warm. She scruffed off a goodly portion of the mud using leaf litter, took his harness off him, then reached in one of the packs on it. She pulled out one of the extra woolen blankets from the cache and wrapped it around them both. "Here, this'll do." She fell asleep listening to his gentle chuffing at her.

Philippe woke stiff and livid. One look at the harness she'd made, and the way she arranged the loads, told the entire tale. His shoulders were a little sore, but he'd had worse just from a decent set of mail. How dare she load herself like a packmule! He wasn't some prancing pansy, and she wasn't some drudge!

Philippe pulled out a fresh set of clothes,and went to the nearby stream. March water was cold, but anything was better than caked mud. Carys may have scraped most of it away with dead leaves, but that still left plenty to cake over the both of them. Freshly washed, freshly dressed, he was ready to have a heart to heart with his love. That froze him fast in place.

He had a love now. A love that was under the same duress as his own brother. Hell take him if he'd lose two of the most important people in his world to the greed of a pair of imps. He wouldn't be at all surprised if part of the 'secret mission' his uncle and those hunters were on was to find an answer to their dilemma. Remembering that fierce redhead and silent sister of Carys, he seriously doubted letting the imp take anyone would enter into it. Only full capitulation on the imp's part seemed likely.

He came back to where he'd left her wrapped in the blanket. The wool blanket was saturated with mud, along with Carys' entire outfit. He carefully scooped her up, still sleeping, and bore her to the stream. A good dunking would do her a world of good.

Within a breath, Carys' world went from warm and comfy to wet and cold. She sprang up from the water shrieking loud enough to scatter birds a mile around. Once she could see and hear again, boisterous laughter from the bank greeted her. "You! You! Ooooh! " Despite the obvious fury on her face, Philippe added insult to injury by tossing her a lump of soap.

"You were caked in mud, stank of bog, and what do you mean loading yourself down like that?" REALLY? Her allotment of the equipment was what this was all about? She was seriously rethinking this falling in love with him business. Oh no she wasn't.

It wasn't all male ego; she'd seen his horror at the stains on her blouse. Blisters had broken where the pack straps had rubbed too long, but her own stubborn pride had kept her going instead of taking the time to fix it right. Nevermind she'd stopped at least twice to check his pack. He was worried about her. It was quite probably the first time anyone not family was thinking about her comfort and needs. It didn't mean she was going to let him have it all his own way, though.

"Tell me, oh Gallant Knight, just how did you expect to fight if you're carrying all that weight?" Carys knew enough hunter lore to know that wolves depended on their speed and agility to stay safe in a fight. Loading him down would simply make him target practice for anything they encountered.

"Better than you could have run to safety with it." There was still plenty of growl there, but at least he was listening. "Not only that, but we could possibly rig a release on that infernal contraption for just such emergencies."

"A sailor's knot?" Carys knitted her brows. It could work. It was such a different experience to have someone that listened and offered solutions, instead of just trying to boss her.

"Sure, if you know how." That was also different. Carys could count on no fingers the number of village men or boys willing to admit they didn't know something. As if a lack of knowledge somehow belittled their manhood. If she weren't already in love with him, she just might have fallen all over again then.

"Alright, since I'm already wet and shivering, I'll get mud free, and you can set up camp this time." Carys lathered the soap up. She was just going to wash clothes and all. Luckily the blanket had caught on her legs, and hadn't floated off downstream.

"Sure, and I'll repack those bags, too." That scamp. He was truly lucky she loved him, or she might just have to put nettles in his bedding. She shook her head, and started cleaning mud out of places she didn't even realize before she had.

Soon enough, clothing, blanket, and self were mud free and smelling much better. She was thankful he hadn't grabbed the lye soap, but the fragrant gardenia scented one. When she was ready to come out of the water, her clothing pack was thoughtfully left high on the bank with a spare blanket. She quickly changed into another set of wool leggings, linen shirt, and wool overtunic and wrapped herself in the blanket. That water was cold! She needed a moment or so to heat back up.

She was also avoiding that talk Philippe had promised. Face it, girl, you're ace with everyone's problems but your own, she thought. She finally gathered her courage and the blanket around her and trudged back into camp. She found Philippe looking at her bow and arrows. She couldn't decipher his expression. She was usually good at that. "Are these yours?" He asked.

No, Philippe, the earth spat them out just to puzzle you was the response she bit her tongue down on, hard. What she answered was "I'm actually better with those than my belt knives." He sat down and laughed. Laughed until the tears ran.

"Care to share the joke?" The exasperation in her tone finally broke through, or the hilarity had run its course. Either way, he'd pulled her down in his lap before she could protest and buried his nose in her unruly curling mop. He sounded like a drowning man getting his first taste of air again. She'd wished he'd stop, because his breath on the back of her neck was causing an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"My brother's an archer." Carys turned so quickly in his lap her head bumped his nose hard. He rubbed the offended feature, still smiling at her. "And I prefer dual blades."

Carys could only sit there contemplating his laughing mouth, with that braided mustache bouncing in his mirth, remembering exactly how unbelievable their kiss had been. She shook her head hard to clear the fog, his words finally making sense. "You have got to be kidding me. Nerys tried for ages to teach me knifework. It never really took well, not compared to her. Fate, it seems, is having a ball at our expense."


	5. How about that talk?

**A/N: You may have noticed this story had an "M" rating, but without the "whoa nelly" factor to back it up. Whelp, here 'tis. This is also the very second time I've ever written smut. If you want more, maybe a review or three of encouragement might help.**

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><p>Carys," Philippe's tone was suddenly serious. "We need to talk." Oh lord help her, Carys thought, here it comes. She watched him open and close his mouth a few times, before he simply growled "Devil take it all" and kissed her.<p>

Carys thought her head was going to explode. The feelings, if possible, were more overwhelming than last time. His hands were tangled in her hair, catching her up close to him. She could feel his rapid heartbeat and mad body heat. She could taste him as he swirled his tongue with hers. He tasted of woodsmoke and March morning air. Her breath came out in a long low ulation of want as her own hands came up to cradle his head closer.

The need for air made them break the kiss. He still had that concentrated, determined look on his face, and he still held her face hostage with a gentle but strong grip. "Carys" his voice was gruff, as if fighting its way free of his constricted throat. "Carys, you're my Half."

Carys blinked, as if it were sinking in finally. She'd guessed, she'd known it mentally, but hearing him say it, made it real finally. It still stunned her.

Well, at least she wasn't running. Philippe studied her flushed face and dilated eyes, and brushed an errant curl back from her face. He had thought the gardenia soap would be perfect for her. His warm fingers sent a shudder down to her toes. She turned into the caress, and Philippe took full advantage of the exposed neck. He took in another deep breath savoring her scent mixed with the soap, peppering her nape with quick little kisses. Then she said words to make his heart sing.

"I love you, too." Sitting on his lap had sent her body temperature skyrocketing, yet she felt goosebumps on her arms. Nobody had ever caressed her behind her ear, and she liked the feel of his calloused fingers on her skin. The skin all around her mouth was already tingling from his curly beard. She ran her fingers through it, enjoying the texture. It was surprisingly soft against her fingers. Looking in his liquid blue eyes, she felt she could drown in the wealth of emotion there. She wasn't ready for the depth of their next kiss.

As soon as their breath met, she could feel a difference. Something new was happening. She could feel Philippe's own elation and relief. "Silly man. How could I not love you?" She murmured against his lips. He responded by crushing her to him. She loved his strong arms and broad chest. She'd sometimes imagine curling herself up under his protective arms, and just staying there. Nobody could drag her out, not even the Crooked Dwarf. Something of what she thought must have transferred to Philippe, because she could feel deep chuckles in his chest.

"But if you do, I couldn't do this, Love." She felt hands, his warm wide calloused hands, making their way to her chest. She felt the goosebumps across her stomach trail behind them, and her nipples pebbled in anticipation. She couldn't stop the gasp when his hands finally made contact, caressing and rolling both nipples.

Philippe couldn't believe how good she felt. He couldn't imagine anything feeling so fine, but his little Carys decided to prove him wrong. Her soft hands had crept inside his tunic, and were playing havoc across his chest and stomach, exploring every curve and curl he had. She had him quivering and shaking with need in no time flat. Now he was the one groaning aloud, causing her to laugh.

That laugh turned into a gasp when one hand left her nipples to dive into her leggings, seeking her center. "Ph-Philippe?" His name rose to a squeaky pitch, asking the only way she could.

"Sh, Love. Let me give you this." His need was riding him hard, but this was her first time, he knew. There was no way he wasn't going to pleasure her first. If she kept making all those little noises, though, he may just come with her. He found her curls already wet, and that made his ego soar. He easily slipped a finger through her folds, and found her nub. The long intake of breath at his neck made him grin like a fool when he caressed it. "Easy Love, just enjoy." His own breath was a little sketchy. Her breath on his neck was causing shivers down his back.

He held her close as he caressed and rubbed her most sensitive spot while her pleasure built. It would have been easy to tell even without the Recognition feedback. She was getting more vocal. Her hands were rubbing all over his chest, fisting in his body hair, and she rubbed her face against his neck, kissing and nipping. He was having a hard time staying on target because she couldn't sit still.

He was not prepared for the storm of her first orgasm. Her whole body tensed on his lap, her head thrown back as the spasms of release shook her top to toe. A long deep voiced howl seemingly from the depths of her soul trebled and rang through the trees. He never felt so smug in his life.

A very satisfied Carys took one look at his smug expression, and with all the love in her heart told him. "Oh hush you." Philippe's eyebrows rose as she leaned in, grinning at him, and he felt his belt loosen and fall away. "Your turn, Love." Little hands started digging for buried treasure. He yelped. He was not used to being manhandled. It rather surprised him he liked it.

She finally found what she was looking for and started stroking. Now it was his head lolled back in bliss. This Recognition thing was handy. She could tell when what she was doing was helping, and when it wasn't. She grinned as a thought occurred to her. Philippe's eyes opened warily. He didn't know what, but he could feel she was up to something. He felt her moving down his body, every touch and caress sending sparks of pleasure spiraling through him. Then he felt her lips. Warm, soft lips and her hot, wet mouth enveloped him. He bellowed in surprise and then howled in pleasure. It was very hard for her to grin in triumph, he was more than a mouthful. Listening to the prompts of Recognition, she started to work his shaft, sucking him deep and swirling her tongue around him. From the sound of it, he was thoroughly enjoying her attentions.

Philippe couldn't stand anymore, and she was entirely too pleased with herself. Carys found him pulling her clothes off willy nilly, as he needed more of her against more of him. His fever infected her, burning along the connection between them. His clothes flew every which way. Soon enough they were flush skin to skin, and it was perfection.

Blue eyes met brown in a long heated moment as she positioned herself in his lap, guiding him inside her slowly. She gasped at the girthy hot heat filling and stretching her, he at the squeezing warmth that surrounded him. He held himself trembling at her barrier, afraid of the pain he was about to cause. Carys simply sat on down on him, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of pain that never came. She looked to Philippe for an answer, but he just shrugged. He took her plump hips in his broad calloused hands, and started a slow rocking rhythm that had her gasping her pleasure as she clung to him.

Carys was not the only one experiencing new sensations. Nothing Philippe had experienced with any tavern wench or mischief eyed farm girl compared. Previous rolls in hay had not left him so desperate for one more kiss or one more caress. Carys' bountiful charms were a banquet he didn't think he'd ever get his fill. He nibbled kisses up and down her throat, eventually kissing his way down to her generous bosom, rolling, suckling, and nibbling on her till she was near incoherent with pleasure. Those strong little hands that had been caressing the back of his head were now fisted tightly in his hair, and her smooth back arched to give him more access. Between her pleasure thrumming down the shared link and the building pleasure from her hot squeezing pressure, Philippe was sure his heart would burst .

As their rhythm increased together, he found himself joining his voice to Carys', unable to stop himself. Their dueling duet built to a crescendo of mutual bliss. Both came back to reality slowly. Carys buried her face in the crook of Philippe's neck, slowly trying to get her breath back. Philippe held her tightly about her waist with one arm, while the other slowly stroked her back. Only the rhythmic sway of her loose curls gave away his own efforts to recover.

Carys took her time, lulled by the sound of her and Philippe's hearts. Funnily enough, it seemed they started to beat in time with each other. Yes, instead of two distinct ones, it seemed now only one strong heartbeat sounded between their chests. She finally gathered enough breath and aplomb to fold her hands ladylike on his chest, rest her chin on them, and ask "So, Philippe, what did you want to talk to me about?" It took him all of two seconds to burst into laughter, and pepper her with tickling kisses that sent her own bouncing through the trees.


	6. Dude, where's my cloak?

Carys woke to the familiar call of a whippoorwill. Evening would be falling soon, and with it, the last night of Philippe's First Change. Her cheeks blushed when she considered how little sleep they'd actually 'd roused once long enough to wash in the stream. Philippe had been horrified at the amount of blood on the both of them, but since she was obviously fine, he did finally settle. He was a lot more solicitous after that in their loveplay.

She was still wrapped with him in the thick woolen blanket, and took this opportunity to actually explore his body without the heat of want clouding her mind. Fingers followed where eyes trailed, marveling in the feel of smooth skin and well toned muscles. The golden curls on his chest narrowed to a tempting trail across his abdomen to a package to make her heart skip a beat. Pretty is not a word usually associated with man parts, but it was all she could think at the moment. The slim hips, thick muscled thighs, and well proportioned accoutrements nestled in dark blonde curls struck her as …...pretty. She settled her hand at the curve where trunk met thigh, the skin soft, warm, and nicely fit to her hand. Her very own handhold on her love.

"So, do I pass inspection?" His question out of nowhere made her jump. He immediately regretted startling her.

"Oh Philippe, I'm sorry, love." Soothing hands massaged the poor leg muscle her knee had impacted. He wondered how such a well rounded woman could have such very sharp knees. He made a mental note to steer clear of her elbows.

"Kiss it make it better?" Unfortunately, the expectant look he gave her earned him a playful cuff on the shoulder and a tweak of his braided mustache.

He twitched his lip, the braiding felt loose. He was going to have to fix that. A good look at Carys, and he wondered if his own mane looked as rumpled. He thought a moment. Braiding his hair would be a waste of time with his change coming soon. However, nothing said he couldn't help Carys with her mop and enjoy her curls while he could. He reached out to fondle her tresses, fast becoming a favored pastime. "Carys, love, may I braid your hair? A starling just now was eyeing your lovely locks for nesting." A heartfelt groan met his teasing.

"If you want to try unraveling this wreck, be my guest, though I don't remember seeing a comb in the packs." Carys wasn't about to turn down such an offer. Taming her long brown hair was a near herculean task, one she'd gladly capitulate. Especially someone so handy at braiding. She could braid anyone's hair but her own. She had to see what she was doing.

With a mischievous grin that was both familiar and dear, Philippe produced a lovely carved ivory comb from seemingly midair. "What? You think I conjure these braids out of nothing? A smart man always keeps a comb handy."

"Sleight of hand tricks? Why am I not surprised?" Carys smiled and shook her head at Philippe. She plopped around in his lap, facing away so he could start taming the wild mess on her head. "Alright master magician, work your wiles on my unruly mop, and no, I am not tenderheaded."

Philippe was surprisingly gentle. It amazed her he could pull tangles apart without hardly pulling on her scalp at all. He also took his time stroking the long tresses, and rubbing her scalp. He massaged her head til she was dozing. Philippe smiled and kissed the top of her freshly braided hair. A new prank was already dancing in his eyes. The bruises later might just be worth it.

Carys woke from her unintentional nap to a familiar wolf licking her face. "Philippe! Why did you let me sleep so long!" Of course all the infernal beast did was laugh at her. She really shouldn't have expected different. Carys quickly changed. Smallcloths, leggings, linen shirt, over tunic, boots and hose, everything present and accounted for except her cloak. "Philippe, where's my cloak? Where the deuce is my green cloak?"

She rounded on a puppy face to beat all puppy faces. If she didn't know what a rascal he could be, she might have bought it. The pitiful whine, she assumed to assure her of his innocence, was quite convincing. "Philippe, we don't have all night, I need my cloak. I'll freeze without it!" He shook his massive head at her, and trotted over to his pack, pulling his own cloak out for her. It did not escape her notice how conveniently it had been left on top. She shook her finger in his canine face. "You planned this! I don't know why, but you did. What are you up to, you stinker?"

She knew the moment she donned his cloak, because she was enveloped in his scent. She bit back the needy moan rising in her throat. She glared at the wolf "Philippe, you are evil, wolf. Pure. Evil." It did not help that for the love of her, she swore he wore a rather satisfied smirk on his muzzle.

"Alright, let's get you outfitted and on the road. If we don't dally, we can be at Gram's before sunup." That got him. He actually hunkered a bit and whined. "Hey, it's not my fault you fell in love with me. I told you who my Gram was from the start." She could no longer resist the impulse, and stuck her tongue out at her wolf. He sniffed in indignation, which instigated a peal of laughter.

Philippe harumphed at her, stalked off, and brought over a rabbit to drop at her feet. Carys finally caught her breath. "What am I to do with you? Infuriating one minute, hilarious the next, and thoughtful and sweet right on the heels of that. How is a mere woman to keep up?" She sat down, poking the fire back to life to cook the rabbit. He settled himself next to her, licking her cheek with a comforting whine. She tapped his nose with a playful finger. "Oh, you're not out of trouble yet, you. You still haven't told me what you did with my cloak. "

Their trek that night was blissfully uneventful. The only real problem was that the spring melt had begun, and the usual crossing across the river had washed out. It took quite a search both up and down the bank, before a suitable enough spot was found as decided by Philippe.

Carys wondered if she'd managed to saddle herself with yet another overprotective guardian. She couldn't really see the big difference between the two fords. Then again, she knew she didn't have the senses of a wolfkin, either. Perhaps he heard something in the quality of the water rushing or smelled something from the river bank.

The actual crossing, at least, was quick and easy. Yet finding it had cost them. It would be sometime tomorrow before they reached Grandmother Leary's cottage. At least she wouldn't be arriving late.

Philippe decided whomever compared the last morning to a hangover must have been a champion amongst drunkards. His head felt as if it were being used for a giant's anvil, his mouth felt stuffed full of cotton, and his muscles felt twitchy and strung out. In short, he was beyond any misery he'd ever experienced after a night of carousing, and he'd had a few here and there. He groaned softly. A soft giggle met his ears. Ah yes, the icing on the cake: he was so miserable, he couldn't even properly appreciate the current company. That was beyond cruel in his estimation.

"Here, Philippe, drink this. It'll help deal with the misery even I can feel off you." She handed him a mug of warm herbal tea. Instead of the noxious smell of a typical morning after fixative, it smelled fresh, light, and inviting. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Honestly, I never understood why medicine had to taste awful. How can you get someone to take it if they can't even bear it?" Her reasoning made sense, and he heartily wished other healers ascribed to her methodology. Some of his worst nightmares involved the concoctions the current clan healer insisted were cure alls. Philippe savored the flavor of her remedy as he drank it down. The muscle twitches stopped almost immediately. He groaned in appreciative relief.

Carys hit him in the face with a drying towel. "Now, go wash. I have no idea what that was you got into, but it reeks! I've already had my bath. I STILL can't find my cloak, you turkey, so I have no idea what you're going to wear when you come back. Perhaps you can fashion one out of a blanket?" Philippe chuckled all the way to the stream, taking his pack of clothing with him.

He enjoyed the look on her face when he came back wearing not only his clothing, but her cloak as well. She gaped at him, and he could contain his mirth no more. He sat down on a pack and laughed till he cried. "Oh Love, you should see your face."

"How do you DO that?"

"My secrets, and not tellin'. Now, would you like me to braid your hair again?"

"Depends, what are you going to disappear or swap this time?"

"Only the tangles, and I'll let you help with mine." How could she refuse an invitation like that?


	7. To Gramma's House We Go!

A/N: This chapter is co-written with kkolmakov.  Grandmother Leary is her creation, and much of the paragraphs and all dialogue concerning GL are solely her creation.

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><p>Despite Philippe's state, they still made it to Gram's house just a little after noon. It had a large veranda, and through the glass Philippe could see bundled herbs hanging in clusters from the rafters. Shelves groaned underneath the weight of jars full of unidentifiable ingredients. The place was steeped in foreboding. Time and magic hung heavily over the whole place.<p>

Carys was surprised she felt as sad as she did. Her trip with Philippe was over. However, she was quite sure that was not what was dragging Philippe's feet. There was a very real fear of that place strangling his spine and with good reason. The Blind Witch's son, Wren's father, died in the Great Hunt, and she never forgave any of the wolfkin for it.

"Gramma! Gramma! I'm here." Carys called. It was a longtime practice to keep unwanted spells from being tossed at familiar heads.

The door opened, and Philippe saw what Wren would become should she reach a great age. Long white hair flowed over shoulders still straight and strong. Her eyes were solid white, and her face only faintly marked by time. She was regal and very, very scary.

"Is that you, girl?" The old woman had a surprisingly strong voice, ringing with confident sarcasm. She obviously knew who was in front of her, possibly long before they reached the hillock her house stood on.

"Aye Gramma, and I have someone with me. There's a very long story attached to it."

"Is the story dragging behind your friend's tail? I could hear the stomping and huffing from the other side of the forest." The witch stepped down from the porch taking smooth confident steps towards her. "Come close, girl." Her hands gently cupped Carys's face, and she brushed her thumbs on the girl's jaw. "What is your story, child?"

"I couldn't stand the villagers, ran after Wren, got found by two wolfkin who protected me all night, and wound up escorted and bonded to one." If the waiver in Carys's voice were any indication, her knees were jelly and only supporting her out of habit.

"Keep your voice down, child. I'm blind, not deaf. There are wolves in these woods; they will hear you." She gave her granddaughter a wry smile and then her unseeing eyes darted to Philippe. He was sure the joke was made at his expense. "Bonded you say? No wonder your cheeks are burning like pans for breakfast potatoes."

"Aye, to Philippe. "

The white haired woman released her granddaughter, who exhaled with relief, then beckoned him with a finger, her eyes right on his face. He could swear he felt her gaze on his skin, though he knew she couldn't see. "Come here, boy."

"Aye, ma'am." His voice only broke a little, causing him to flush. That hadn't happened since his fourteenth winter!

Her long pale fingers ran across his forehead, followed his cheekbones, one tip slid along the nose, and a thumb brushed his bottom lip. She gave him a wry smile, which made her look so much like her redhaired granddaughter.

"A looker, Carys?" She chuckled throatily, "As if your mother's story hasn't taught you anything. The better they look, the faster they run." She tilted her head. "But this one won't, will he? The bond got you bad, boy..."

Philippe stood there quietly, cheeks flaming. Carys could feel a flurry of emotions through the link, but couldn't pin any of them down. She wondered what was going on with her Philippe.

Philippe wondered just what could a guy say to that? _Yes ma'am_? And possibly insult the scariest woman he had ever laid eyes on? Better to keep quiet, and let her grandmother say what she would, and only answer direct questions. Quite probably the only safe course he had.

She chuckled. "A smart one as well? Gods save us all." She stepped away from him and turned to her granddaughter. Her face suddenly grew cold. "Have you tested the wolf's blood, Carys?"

"No? This was his First Change." Cut Philippe? Her Philippe? She was a healer, not a hunter! The only time she ever cut flesh was to remove rot!

"It takes less than a minute to murder a grown man, my dear." She wore a sun bleached linen dress, skirts full and heavy, and suddenly she pulled a dagger from a scabbard hidden in the folds of fabric. Philippe saw the hunters' crest on its hilt. She handed it to Carys.

"Ph-Philippe?" He could feel her trepidation through the link. The last thing she wanted was to do this. Her eyes were wide and filling with tears.

"It's okay, love. Do it." He leaned close to her ear, gently kissing her lobe. "You can kiss it make it better later." Philippe caught the raised eyebrow of her grandmother. It caused a slight frisson on his neck since it so eerily reminded him of Wren.

Carys winced as she made a small shallow cut on his palm. Thick black blood welled up, causing both her and Philippe to choke in shock. She could feel his sudden maelstrom of emotions, and her heart hurt for him.

"Well?" The white haired witch asked calmly, but Philippe was certain she knew. He lifted his eyes from the blood to Carys, and then there was another hunter's dagger pressed to his throat. The old woman moved completely silently.

"My blood,...my blood is black. How? Why? Carys?" Philippe could no longer hide the rising panic in his voice. She had to know he was innocent. She had to know!

"Carys, my dear," the woman's voice was calm as if she was asking her granddaughter for a cup of tea, "He is only still breathing because I can hear your little heart fluttering for him."

For the first time in ever, Carys spoke to her grandmother firmly. "I don't understand how or why his blood is black, but he is innocent. I've been in his mind, and he in mine. If he were a murderer, I could have been dead by his jaws a hundred times over before he ever knew I was his Half. This. Is. Wrong. Put it down."

The witch stood motionless for an instant and then nonchalantly pushed the dagger back in the hidden scabbard.

"Then we should have tea. Scones should be ready, and I have your favourite blackberry jam." She headed inside her house, movements fluid and swift.

"Carys, what?" Philippe could not quite believe he was still breathing. He was trying desperately to understand.

"Welcome to Gramma's."

Philippe gingerly moved deeper into the domain of the Blind Witch. Never mind that it had all the usual comforts of home: deep cushioned chairs, comfortable throws, and a crackling hearth, the sheer presence of the woman permeated the very air with barely contained power. He could hear the usual noises of someone making tea, even caught a glimpse of her putting the kettle on. All of them very ordinary things. All of them scared him witless.

"My child, your lover boy is dripping blood on my floors. You will obviously have to clean that later, but so far you can run to the back room and get what you need to bind his hand." She chuckled. "And do not worry, I won't eat him while you are away."

"Yes'm. Think some stingwort would be alright now?"

"And while you are at it," strange menacing coldness weaved through the woman's voice, and Philippe shivered, "Pick up that little box from the top shelf. The one you are never ever allowed to touch. With a wolf carved on the lid."

Carys felt her stomach drop. "Yes'm. The wolf carved box. I'm bringing it now."

Philippe could not sit easily in the room. He was fairly well dead center of the lair of the most powerful person to ever have reason to hate all his kind, and he had black blood. How? Why? While it's called a wolf dream, one remembered everything, were still in control, and he knew no person crossed his jaws as a wolf. So why did he have black blood? It made him feel dizzy.

The witch put a cup in front of him, some purple flowers floating in tea inside of it. "So, Philippe, do you happen to have a dark haired brother and a dark haired uncle with blue eyes?"

Philippe startled. "Yes, ma'am. How did you know?" She smiled and took a small sip from her cup.

"And your uncle, Philippe, what sort of man is he?" Her tone was laced with nothing but polite interest.

"I would say he was a good man. He raised my brother and myself after, after we lost Dad. He leads our clan, and things have been peaceful under his watch." Philippe wasn't sure what's happening, but he tried to answer truthfully and carefully. His heart still hadn't calmed down. How long did it take Carys to get a box and bandages, anyway?

"Gramma, your box." Carys set the small carved box carefully in her grandmother's waiting hands. The older woman opened it and pulled out a vial with some thick yellow liquid.

"What do you think of cats, Philippe?"

"Um, not much, really. Never had any cause to think about them." He looked at her warily. It would be easy to dismiss her as crazy, but if it were crazy, it was the dangerous, wiley sort.

"They are not fond of your kind, boy. Can sniff you out from a mile. In the old times hunters used to have them in their houses, but cats are hard to train. One thing for sure, they do love nepeta. And for a reason."

"Catnip?" Carys looked at her grandmother with surprise. What was so special about catnip, that she'd not be allowed to touch it? She had a couple preparations now in her small pouch that used them.

"This one is a rare kind, the Night Valeriana. Bring the night of the full moon upon a wolf when the sun is shining bright," a strange sing-song lilt appeared in her voice. "Were a drop of this oil to accidentally drop in your tea, boy, we'd have a fully shifted wolf on our hands in no time."

"Gramma, what are you up to?" Philippe silently echoed her wariness, but didn't dare ask himself.

The blind woman didn't answer but leaned in. A heavy drop fell into the cup in front of Philippe. The witch lifted one brow. "Will you have some tea with me, boy? Surely you are not afraid of a couple hours in the wolf's skin. Some of your kind quite enjoy it."

"Some, not all." Philippe stared hard at the glass. Knowing full well to refuse meant he'd probably have that dagger at his neck. His blood was black, would Carys be safe if he shifted?


	8. In the Lair of the Blind Witch

"Are you worried now, wolf?" She tilted her head again. "I can hear your heart beating frantically. But you are not afraid of me. You are worried..." Her voice grew softer. "You are worried you did kill and forgot about it."

"Lady, only a fool would not be afraid of you. And yes, I am worried. Until your dagger pierced my skin, I was certain I had nothing to fear or to hide. Now? I'll take your test, but please, have Carys leave the room."

"It is up to her to decide. If she wants to stay, she can. And worry not, you'll be long dead before you have a chance to hurt her." Something in her tone left Philippe no doubts she meant every word.

"Philippe, I've traveled with your wolf for three nights. I'm not leaving you. So hush and drink it already!" Carys went so far as to stomp her foot at him. His eyes never left hers as he downed the cup in one go.

"You have about three minutes to take off your clothes, boy," the old woman snorted, a sound that seemed way too young for the terrifying white haired witch, "I won't see, and something tells me Carys has seen it all before." She suddenly turned to her granddaughter, and some new spark danced in her unseeing eyes. "Which we will have a conversation after."

So, not only scared to death, but now embarrassed as well, Philippe shimmied out of his clothing, his flush creeping across his golden chest and high across his cheekbones.

"Gardenia soap?" Suddenly asked the witch, and her brows twitched.

"Fell in a bog, Philippe pulled me out. Had to wash me, the clothes, and the blanket." Carys offered as explanation.

"I didn't smell it on you, girl." The witch stepped confidently across the kitchen, her wide skirt brushing Phillipe's bare calf. She bent down and picked up the clothes Philippe threw on the chair. "And wearing your cloak as well, isn't he?" She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "I hope your sisters have more common sense. Although I doubt..."

Carys shot Philippe a warning glance. She could see the mischief in his eye, as his more wolfish nature asserted itself. He was already covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

"If even our darling, smart cautious Nerys seems to be forgetting all her training, and Wren's head is full of dark haired heartthrobs..." The woman seemed to be talking to herself.

"That would be Uncle." Carys buried her face in her hands. What she wouldn't give for a muzzle.

"I am aware, boy. And I have to say, I hope you have taken after him. My darling Wren seems to be quite taken with him." Genuine warmth seeped into the old woman's voice when mentioning the redhaired huntress. "Carys, child, step behind me now, please."

The old woman's arm lay behind and around Carys's waist. It looked rather ridiculous from outside perhaps, a small old woman, seemingly frail and weak, only an inch taller than the girl she was protecting.

Philippe's face contorted in pain, and he dropped to the floor in a fetal position. A pained scream again climbed the scales until it was a howl, and her blonde wolf lay panting on the floor in front of her. He whined to Carys.

"Stay still, girl," the witch's voice was calm. She tilted her head, listening to the wolf's breathing. "Ahhh… A difficult one, interesting. Trust you, Carys, to choose a resisting one. Unlike his uncle he is not yet an alpha, but so much ambition, so much pride, and so much desire for control. If the boy is innocent, I'll congratulate you on your choice. It is always difficult for men like him. The more decent they try to be as a man, the more pain the shift inflicts on them." She stepped towards him and stretched her hand to him. He remained prone, and she knelt in front of him on the floor.

Carys found herself invaded by a new sensation. She watched her grandmother talk soothingly to her wolf, stroke her wolf's sides, and the feeling continued to grow. It made her insides itch, and it made her angry.

She'd never been angry at her grandmother before. The words left her mouth before she could stop them. "My wolf, go get your own." Both hands flew to her mouth as if trying to keep them in, but too late. She watched her grandmother's reaction with horrified eyes.

The old woman turned to her and suddenly laughed loudly. "Ahhh, the wolf wife's jealousy. His possessiveness has already taken root in your mind. It is good. It means your bond is strong." She treaded her strong pale fingers through the thick fur on Philippe's nape and Carys's body jolted. "I am lucky it is not his alpha lying here on the floor. They are hundreds times worse. Linked with him, your cousin would already have her sword to my neck." She turned her face to the wolf again and smiled.

"You can't mean that! Would she?"

"Wren of Leary would never. But Wren, the bonded of Darius of Clan Durin, yes. She is an alpha female now..." The old woman's voice suddenly grew sad.

"Gramma, Philippe's fate? Am I to have found him to lose him now?" She sounded all of three winters old to herself again, plaintively asking if the hummingbirds would return after the final snow melt.

"How old was he when his father died?" The old woman had a habit of being deaf to the questions that didn't interest her.

"Young. It started his brother's birth early. No more than two winters, I think."

"And his brother was in a womb… And his father's blood still circulated in his veins..." She sharply got up and started brushing dust off her skirts. "Your wolf is pure. A cheek and a salacious lad, but innocent." She chuckled and walked to the table. She sat down and picked up her cup. Carys wasn't sure how she knew where it was, but by now she had stopped wondering about her grandmother in general. "Give him half of an hour, and you will get your blonde back. He is blonde, isn't he? The fur is much softer."

"Aye, he's blonde, with the merriest pair of blue eyes and twinkling dimples you could hope for." Carys sat down in the empty chair next to her Gramma, stomping her jealousy with both feet. Philippe, finally free, padded over to Carys and dropped his head in her lap. She took his great head in both hands, gently rubbing his cheeks. "Did you have any idea what you were letting yourself in for, when you decided to escort me that night?"

Philippe gave her that now familiar headcock with a soft whuf and a cheek lick. She smiled as she rested her head on his.

"So, he's pure, why is his blood black? How did that happen?"

"Poisoned blood, I suppose," the old woman answered absent-mindedly, lost in her thoughts. "I have suspected for a while. There were so many sudden deaths in the villages around, people disappearing, and then suddenly, so many wolves couldn't pass the Blood Trials. Do you know what happened to his father?"

"No, we'd not had a chance to talk about it."

"He was a sword for hire, at least according to that cantankerous wolf your cousin tucked in her skirts, and he was charged and executed. His blood was black. But apparently," the old woman's voice grew mocking, "He was a jerk but not a killer." Carys heard familiar intonations in her voice. She didn't have a chance to talk to Darius much, but the tone and the accent were easily recognised.

Philippe's ears were flicking attentively, listening to everything said, and getting restless. An aggravated whine escaped him.

"Your Da was one of many wolves who were later claimed to be unfairly killed by the hunters. Wren and her wolf think there was a conspiracy to cause a war between the families, hunters against Wolfkin."

"Gran, if they were poisoned, that would be proof? Proof there was a plan to destroy us both…."

"Carys, bring me the basket with salts from the back room. And you, wolf, come closer."

Carys gave Philippe a final ear ruffle, and quickly went to claim the basket from the back. She came back to find her Gramma fondling her wolfkin. Her strong fingers were scratching all around the cheeks causing Philippe to squint in pleasure, tongue lolling. Carys had to stop, take a breath, and shake it out of her head. Stupid jealousy. Her voice sounded only a little strangled. "Gramma, the basket."

The woman stretched her hand and picked up the basket, her other hand still buried in Philippe's thick fur. Her palm slid down along the strong neck, on the shoulder, and she picked up his paw. "This will hurt, boy." The derisive snark was gone from her voice, replaced with hardly noticeable, but present warmth.

She pulled out a vial from the basket, her deft fingers quickly ran across the label, counting the etching on it, and she put the vial on her lap. She then picked up one of her daggers and quickly pricked the skin on Philippe's paw. Now he had both his hands cut. Black blood seeped from the cut, and the witch shook some white crystals on the cut.

"What is it ?" Carys had been holding her jaw to keep it off the floor in shock. To hear her grandmother talk kindly, or treat kindly a wolfkin, was a marvel. She'd seen that woman do impossible things on a daily basis and took those in calm stride, but seeing her caress or care for a wolfkin? Impossible did not begin to describe it. Carys came closer for a better look at the process happening in her grandmother's lap.

"This is, my darling, so called Cleansing Salt. It flushes plague and poison out of blood." And as if to prove her words, Phillipe's blood bubbled on the wound and turned, from the black and thick, to the proper scarlet colour. "Here we go." The woman let go of the paw and patted the wolf's nape. "Judging by your breathing, Carys, it is red."

"Aye, Gramma, his blood flows red again. We have our proof."

"We do, child." Grandma got up and suddenly stepped to Carys. Her strong cool fingers lay on Carys's jaw, cupping it. "You do know, I love you more than anything in this world, child? Had he been a killer, I would have spared his life if you had asked. But I needed to make sure." She let her go and headed out of the room. At the door she turned around, "He will shift back soon. He will need a nap. You can take him to your room upstairs. But no dalliances, I unfortunately have very sharp hearing. I have had enough bare arsed Wolfkin from walking in your cousin's mind." With that she left, and Carys thought she heard a cackle from behind the door.

Carys had to sit down. Apparently, Gramma could still surprise her. She looked down at the wolf at her feet. "Alright you, you're walking right now up them stairs. I am not lugging your heavy bum again in this lifetime if I can help it, especially up any stairs." She picked up his clothes, the salts, and the forgotten bandages, and then followed him upstairs. She'd wait for his change before packing the wounds with the salt. Who knew how long it'd take to cleanse the last of the taint out of his blood.

Philippe came back to himself arranged on Carys' bed. She took his nearest hand and started cleaning the wound. She had a lap full of supplies, probably to treat and bandage his hands.

"How does your grandmother know so much about...everything?" Philippe felt like he was in the middle of a bogsink trying desperately to find some purchase against drowning.

"She's never really shared how she does half of what she does. I know she has a strong connection to Cousin Wren. They can dream talk to each other. How she read your mind like a book? Only she knows." She was now packing the wound with salt, and she winced every time he did. "Sorry love, but we have to draw out the taint." She cut her eyes mischievously at him. "That could take several days, and I'll have to change the poultice every so often. I'm afraid you may be stuck here a while."

Philippe's eyebrows rose. Stuck here? With Carys? Could purgatory arrange a more devilish penance?


	9. Long, Blonde, and Clueless

**A/N Apologies for such a late update. The closer I get to 'done' the harder the words seem to want to come together. Yep, you heard me, this is winding down. However, I don't quite feel done with these two, as I'm a firm believer in the adventures starting AFTER you're a couple. Who would be interested in the further adventures of Carys and Philippe?**

Carys scraped a bit more birch bark into her basket. She hoped it'd be enough for Gram's preparations. She'd been out nearly all day, and she was past ready to return to the cottage. Spring was a busy time for herb gathering. She still had to gather river moss and cattail roots, but that could wait for a later trip that evening.

She looked over to where Philippe lounged against a tree, a long grass stem twirling idly between his teeth. It was easy to see he was bored, but still his eyes scanned their surroundings restlessly, ever vigilant and ready for a threat. Since he was stuck at the cottage until Grandmother Leary declared his blood clear of taint, he took any excuse to escape its confines. Neither could he bear to be without Carys. Escorting her on these endeavors was the perfect solution as far as he was concerned. It still left blessed little for him to do with himself, though. Herb gathering was not his forte. Hunting, on the other hand, was.

"Philippe, would you like fresh venison tonight?" Carys stretched her back, it was cramping from bending over so much to scrape the birch. She couldn't help it also put her best assets forward, and Philippe more than appreciated the sight.

"Is that a trick question?" Philippe tossed the grass stem, and sauntered over to take the overfull basket from Carys. "You're asking a wolfkin if he wants fresh game? What's the catch?"

"Well, you would have to hunt and dress it." Carys wrinkled her nose playfully at him. Then tugged gently on his braided mustache until he leaned in for a kiss. She could feel him shake from suppressed laughter at her antics.

"As long as you promise to cook it, you have a deal." Philippe gently rubbed his mustache. Even as gentle as she was, it still pulled the hair a bit. He escorted her back to the cottage with the load of bark. He'd need to get proper hunting and dressing gear.

It was nice to be doing something not only familiar, but useful. Philippe carefully scented the bracing spring air. It shouldn't be long, now. He had placed himself along a game trail near a small spring. From the fresh spoor along the trail and bare patches on nearby trees from browsing, it was a frequently used trail for the local deer population. If he remained both silent and patient, he would undoubtedly bag a deer before evening fell.

Philippe checked the draw on the bow, and then the fletching on the arrows. It was a set he'd found in the room he'd been given. It was old, but definitely serviceable for hunting. Trying to take down a racing deer with anything else would have been laughable. He wasn't as good as Killiare, few were, but he was competent enough to provide for the table. Even as he scanned the surroundings one more time, he heard the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping.

There, to his left, was a tall blonde hunter, the red cloak turned so the brown lining was outermost with a bow drawn on him. "You're but a hair's breadth from dying. What are you doing here on Leary land?" Before Philippe could move, the hunter pulled his bow tighter, his cold blue eyes blazing a rare hatred. "Have a care how you answer, wolfkin."

"Have a care, yourself, Llewelyn. One move, and you'll sprout more feathers than one of Gramma's chickens. That's my husband you're threatening." Philippe shuddered to hear the menacing growl in Carys' voice. It effectively doused the other's enthusiasm, as well. The bow dropped and the string relaxed, no longer a threat. Philippe assumed the poleaxed expression on long blonde and clueless was due to both Carys' revelation and her unusual animosity.

"Carys? You married that, that thing?" Seriously, Philippe was right there, did he have to talk of him as if he weren't? The disgust on his face was working wonders for his too pretty features. Put Llewelyn in a dress, and even his own mother wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

"Thing? Seriously, Llew? His name is Philippe. I love him, and if you don't want me shooting you on general principle, you WILL start treating him like a person!" Yep, Philippe watched as it started sinking in that he, Llew, was in serious danger if he kept on his present course. "And honestly, do you assume any strange person in Gramma's woods is a wolfkin? Stranger still that you assume they're all monsters. Even Wren would do a blood trial first."

"He's wearing the Durin crest on his cloak. Once I had him subdued, I would have performed the trial. Still, what else am I to think, when I find a wolfkin on Leary land?" Philippe could see Carys seriously considered perforating the blonde hunter when he gave a careless shrug with his equally careless answer. This Llewelyn clearly did not understand the danger his cavalier attitude was placing him.

"Philippe is my husband, and is right now a guest at Gramma's cottage. I'm currently saving your thoughtless life right now. How well do you think she'd take you killing not only a guest under her care, but her grandson-in-law?" The boy's pale face grew paler as the very real and very painful consequences of his almost actions finally sunk into his thick skull.

"How did this happen?" His words were clipped as if forced out past a obstruction. Philippe, feeling ignored, decided to chime in as he relieved the hunter of his bow and quiver.

"Much the usual way: wolfkin finds waif in wood, saves and succors said waif, then bonds with said waif. Same old, same old romantic story." Seeing Carys wrinkle her nose and stick her tongue out at him, Philippe dropped a quick but thorough kiss on her lips as he joined her side. If nothing else proved their bond to Llewelyn, seeing their casual closeness made him a believer.

"And this has your Grandmother's approval?" Disbelief dripped heavily from each word.

"What? You think she'd have me miserable, denying my Recognized mate?" Philippe watched equal parts dawning horror and unholy glee glide across Carys' face as something occurred to her. Whatever it was must have been twenty kinds of a doozy. "Oh dear, and you're going to like this news even less. Come along, Llew. You may want to sit down for this bit." Philippe looked forward to whatever it was with an eagerness only matched by Llewelyn's trepidation.

"Philippe! Leave him be!" Carys sharp reprimand came as he was gleefully waving a hand in front of Llewelyn's petrified face. The delivery of said stunning news and subsequent shock had been every bit as satisfying as Philippe could have hoped.

"How long do you think he'll remain like this?" The very way he asked made it clear he hoped it was long enough for some further mischief on his part.

"Really Love? I swear, you're almost as bad as he is! Ack no!" Philippe pounced her from his place by the stunned Llewelyn to bear Carys down to the couch, tickling her unmercifully.

"Take it back, there's no way I'm as bad as all that!" Her lighthearted giggles never failed to raise his own mirth, and soon enough both of them were breathless from their play.

"Okay, Okay! I take it back, even though I did say 'almost'" Carys finally caught her breath. Glaring at her gloating husband. "You're just lucky Gram's not here."

"Don't remind me. Did her note say how long she'd be gone?" The grimace he made was so funny, Carys felt she needed to tweak his mustache braid for it. Causing him to twitch it in the most amusing manner.

"Three days, though she never said where or why she was going. Maybe she'll let us know when she gets back."

"So, your cousin Wren was promised to THIS guy? Did her family hate her? Was it punishment?" He asked in such a matterfact manner it was impossible for Carys to tell if it were in jest or earnest he'd ask her such a thing.

"Really Philippe!" She was just about to read her loving husband the riot act, when an unholy bellow from outside drew her attention. There was no mistaking the angry roar of a Highlands Troll. They were a very long way from the Highlands.


	10. Three Highland Trolls Rough

Philippe and Carys both headed for the front door. Just outside, they could see not one, not two, but three of the massive and hideous creatures. "What are highland trolls doing here?" Philippe needed to understand the true gravity of the situation, so Carys decided to clarify the situation for him.

"The bigger question, Love, is how they got past Gramma's wards?" She was already limbering her bow and readying an arrow. He hefted his two heavy blades, as if preparing for a sparring match, an unsettling grin upon his face.

"I've no idea." He grinned at her. "Shall we, m'dear?"

"Aw now, ain't that cute, Duncan, the wee mites think they're going to fight us." Philippe couldn't stop the shudder that shook his sturdy frame. It was a female, the massive udders swinging just above his head as he rolled in close for a strike at her Achilles' tendon blatantly declaring her gender when her deep voice didn't. If she landed just right, those alone could crush him.

She was also faster than he expected, dodging his strike before it landed. "'Cor! Lookit! He tried to cut me leg, the little dreep!"

"S'what ya get when ye stand there jabbering instead of fighting, Manda!" The largest one was laughing at her as he plucked Carys' arrows out of his arm. She noticed they didn't come any closer than the base of Gramma's hill. Apparently, some of her wards were still working, or else they'd be battering down her house with their giant clubs. At least it gave her a vantage point to shoot from, but their hides were proving hard to penetrate.

"Ye might want to take yer own advice!" The smaller male cursed as the heavy club the one called Duncan swung in trying to hit Philippe struck him square in the gut. That wily wolfkin had dodged between the troll's legs, using one troll against the other.

"Why's that, Connor, eh? You're the one hit!" The larger one took time to laugh, holding his giant gut as he did so. He never saw the smaller one's fist as it struck him full on the jaw.

"Would you two glaikcits knock it off? We're supposed to squish that little green cape there, not each other!" Carys found herself leaping out of the way of the very large log the female troll lobbed at her. This could get messy very quickly. Philippe was still dodging and tumbling about their feet, though he didn't seem to be doing much good with his swords. Heavy as they were, they couldn't cut through the thick hides. He was doing more good leading them into each other, so seemed to concentrate on that.

From over her shoulder, Carys caught a green and brown blur that launched itself upon the trolls. Thigh to arm to head, it bounded over the trolls like a mountain goat on a cliffside.

"Llew! If you get smacked!"

"Shush ye! This isn't as easy as it looks!" Llewelyn was doing a good job of gadfly. The troll, Conner, was smacking himself silly trying to hit him. She idly wondered if it would beat itself into submission before it figured out Llew's game.

Duncan was still chasing Philippe. Philippe rolled under Connor's legs, and then dashed between Manda's. Neither Duncan or Connor were aware of the other, and they crashed, falling heavily into the girl troll. A lucky kick punted Philippe straight up the hill to sprawl next to Carys. Llew, who had been launched willy nilly from Connor's shoulder, landed heavily next to them.

"So glad you could join the festivities." The dry humor in Philippe's voice left Carys giggling softly. The sound of it even drew a smile to Llew's perfect lips, but the humor soon left his face as his brows drew down in a thoughtful frown.

"I've never seen trolls so heavily shielded." The worry on his face went a long way to stilling Carys' merriment.

"What?"

"The trolls, they're practically glowing with wards." Llew seemed to be studying them carefully, as the three trolls continued to bicker and fight amongst themselves, since their quarry was temporarily out of reach.

"That explains much." Carys carefully considered the three trolls. She didn't like that their squabble seemed to be winding down. The female was already searching for something heavy to throw again.

"But who?" Philippe cut himself short. He had a feeling he already knew. Carys only confirmed it for him.

"Need you really ask? Who has anything to gain by getting rid of me, personally?" She stomped her little foot in irritation.

"That fiend! I hope Uncle skewers him." Carys hugged her growling wolfkin. She loved how protective he was of her. It made her feel cherished. She utterly ignored the grimace on Llewelyn's face.

"He'd have to beat both Wren and Nerys to it." Her teasing reminder earned her a flash of his darling dimples and a quirk of that braided mustache she adored. Llewelyn drew them back to reality.

"If you two are done being dramatic, we still have three very angry trolls to deal with over here?" Llew gestured at the three trolls now going about pulling up a fully grown spruce tree. The bole was so big, even Duncan couldn't reach all the way around it. Apparently, the three trolls felt bigger was better. Carys shuddered to think what they were planning to do with it.

"Well, getting them to beat themselves and each other up seemed to be our best strategy." Philippe was thoughtfully stroking his beard as he watched them. It was easy to tell he was already planning his own angle of attack.

"That's fine, but I doubt they'd be so accommodating as to let me climb them so readily this time."

"I could give you a hand up, there." Llewelyn didn't care for the evil grin spreading across the wolfkin's face.

"I wonder….." Carys was staring thoughtfully up on the porch, at a massive coil of rope, one thick enough it looked like something to moor ships or draw up anchors.

"What is it, Carys?" Philippe was open to any and all ideas at this point. The trolls about had the tree out of the ground.

"See that length of rope there on the porch? Do you think it'd hold them?" She pointed out the massive coil to both men.

"Wouldn't hurt to try!" Philippe took the coil and hoisted it over his shoulder. It was bulky, but he'd still be able to dodge and tumble without trouble. He carefully tied a loop in the end large enough to snare a troll's foot or hand. This part could get tricksy.

"Ready?" Stancing himself just so, Philip formed a platform for Llew with his hands. Llew carefully placed his foot in the waiting

"Ready!" Philippe launched the hunter with all his might, the blonde sailing straight as an arrow towards the largest troll's shoulder, where he quickly kicked off towards the female's head.

"Jeez, mate! Don't you ever eat? My little sister weighs more!" The cajolery came from under Connor's feet. The wolfkin having already snared his ankle, and was winding his way around Duncan's stomping feet.

"Belt it, wolfkin." How Llew had any breath left as he dodged flailing fists and clubs, Carys didn't know. She'd doctored her arrows with stingwort, hoping to do some good before she ran out of arrows. She couldn't just stand there helpless!

Her stubborness was rewarded when Manda shrieked and cursed, rubbing her eyes furiously. Apparently, some of the stingwort had gotten from her hands to her eyes, and as she rubbed, she made it worse. The other two soon joined her in a cacophony of cursing. Amazing how a simple herb could bypass all those careful wards the Crooked Dwarf had placed on them. At that point, it became a simple chore for Philippe and Llew to tie them up together. The rope was more than adequate to the job.

Once bound, Carys even wiped their eyes with a cleansing agent to remove the stingwort, and balmed it with some aloe. It wasn't so much charity as simple practicality. Her ears needed a rest from their constant bellyaching.

"And you wanted to put that on my wounds?" Philippe looked at her with something akin to horror coloring his lovely features. Llew just snickered at him.

"I **did** put stingwort on your wounds. It's a marvelous antiseptic, that's why it stings." Carys pertly snapped back, stepping down from the last troll, surveying her handiwork. In but a couple minutes, even Conner settled and quieted.

"Well, now what do we do with them? We know the Crooked Dwarf sent them." Philippe scuffed the grass under his feet absentmindedly as he considered the conundrum the three bound trolls presented.

"That's odd…." Llew immediately had both Carys' and Philippe's attention at the mild alarm in his voice.

"What's odd?" The question came from Philippe. He was hoping the answer would shed light on their problem.

"The wards. They're fading." Llew was studying the three trolls closely, knit brows showing his concentration.

"That would only happen if…" Carys was never allowed to finish her sentence.

"The imp called the Crooked Dwarf is no more. That grumpy uncle of Philippe's and Wren took care of him. You can safely let these three go. They will not come back or bother any of us again. Am I not right, Duncan, Connor, and Manda?" From her first words, the grand figure of the Blind Witch had everyone's attention. The three trolls hastily gave their assent, knowing their continued good health was dependent upon it, and both Llew and Philippe began the arduous chore of unwinding all the rope that bound them.

"Gramma! You're home early!" Carys resisted the urge to fly into her gram's arms, and settled for giving her a rather sedate hug.

"I was needed here more than there, it seemed." A faint smile curved her grandmother's lips as she gracefully accepted her granddaughter's hug. "Now, what's this business about calling yourself married?" Carys didn't care a bit for the stern gaze her grandmother fixed upon her. She felt five again after having dropped the sugar bowl for the hundredth time. She started to fidget.

"Well, aren't I?" Philippe certainly seemed to think they were, and she certainly _felt_ married.

"Consummating a marriage is not enough, child. And it usually comes AFTER" To call Gramma's tone dry would have been an understatement. Carys was sure she could see the grass around their feet wither before her eyes.

"Well, then. I want to fix that as soon as possible." Grandmother Leary's lip twitched at Carys' quick reply.

"Soon enough, you do want your sister and cousin here for it, I'd assume?" Carys watched as more grass seemed to keel over at her grandmother's dry words.

"Well, yes." came the grudging reply.


End file.
